


Slip 'n' Slide

by wings128



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:24:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wings128/pseuds/wings128
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why's it always Cam?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slip 'n' Slide

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an LJ writing meme that gives you five words starting with a letter you choose, and you write a drabble/fic that includes them.
> 
> My words were chosen by seshat0120 and were: cut, calmly, chamomile, creation, and charismatic.

Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell had been covering his team’s six and listening to his boots squelch in the orange sludge that on this planet served as mud, when the ground beneath him poured off the side of the trail like his grandma’s Sunday morning oatmeal, taking SG-1’s **charismatic** new leader with it. 

In a show of grace and poise of which even the most prima of ballerinas would’ve envied, Cam held his P-90 above his head, pirouetted then lurched sideways as his feet were whipped out from under him. 

“Teeealllll’c!”

For a man of his size, Apophis’ ex First Prime was incredibly agile, but even _his_ lightning-quick reflexes were not enough to snatch hold of Cam’s flailing hand, “Colonel Mitchell!”

The last thing Cam saw as he hurtled feet first on his belly down the seemingly never-ending slope were the shocked disbelieving faces of his team. The ride wasn’t entirely smooth, groans and surprised oomphs where knocked out of him as his ribs, hips and even his chin failed to slow his descent. His ankle connected with something, a rock, a tree root, it didn’t matter which, since a burning searing pain was morphing, growing and licking up his calf. Cam’s mind filled with electric white that rolled his eyes in their sockets and tore a moan from his throat.

“MITCHELL!” Jackson’s bellow focused Cam’s attention and he remembered to throw his arms out, hands clutching for a hold on _anything._

His fingers tangled and slid over vines dressed in hot pink spikes that tore into the meat of his left hand as Cam fisted a bunch of them. He jerked to a stop like a kite in the wind halted by the limits of its string only to be sliding again when his blood, slick on his palm, loosened his hold. Cam tightened his grip but it was no use, he and now the plant’s spikey tentacles rushed, seemingly faster than before, down and down.

Just when Cam’s panic was getting the better of him, his feet dropped into a nothingness that the rest of his body was eager to follow.  
He cried out, still clutching uselessly to the vines as the sound echoed through his free-fall from daylight to cool entombing darkness. Cam felt the air punched from his lungs as he crumpled to a sudden stop, rubbery limbs and head collapsing in on themselves like a puppet with **cut** strings. His ankle slammed home on a second brutal snap and Cam was out cold as a silent moan whispered over his lips.

“ColonelMitchell! _Cam!_ Mitchell! _Cameron!_ ”

‘Momma?’ Cam wondered dazedly, ‘why was his mom here on 189? Where were the others?’

“Cam!”

‘Sam,’ he knew it was a good thing Sam was there, but he couldn’t sort out the why’s behind the thought. ‘Had they been captured? Why couldn’t he open his eyes?’

Everything felt too heavy to bother with, everything aside from the nagging pain in his right ankle. He tried to shift it, get more comfortable. Cam’s eyes flew open as blazing flames consumed his cramped muscles, ‘damn, that was unpleasant.’

“Colonel Mitchell!” Teal’c’s deep tones pierced the fog that filled and confused Cam’s mind and had him searching for the source of the familiar voice.

“Here!” he yelled and received both an insistent pounding in his temples and a tightness in his chest for his trouble. 

The scuffling of scrabbling boots on soft ground and the loose soil that rained down on his head were Cam’s only warning before the three other members of SG-1 and Vala appeared above him. Suddenly he didn’t feel quite so alone. Sure, he was still wedged in the bottom of a pit with a broken ankle and various other issues, but at least he didn’t have to get out of this on his own.

“Cameron?”

“Yeah, Vala, it’s me,” Cam answered dryly, ‘seriously, who else would be stupid enough to let this happen to them?’

“Cam,” Sam called, “we’re going to head for the gate, get a SAR team in here to get you out.”

The last thing Cam wanted was to be brought back to the SGC like an errant child. He sat on his ass and glared at the plant whose hot pink thorns had messed up his hand, the hand that if it’d just held tighter; he wouldn’t be in this…hole. 

“Ok, so let’s see if I follow this _plan_ of yours,” Cam growled up at the rest of his team’s backlit and silhouetted heads, “I’m the one sitting in the asshole of **Creation** with a gimpy leg and bleeding all over myself, and all I get to do is wait **calmly** while the rest of you double-time it back to the gate for help?!”

“Vala’s going to stay with you Cam.” There was precious little he found reassuring or sympathetic in the poorly checked laughter of Sam’s words. 

Cam scowled back up at what he assumed were four superior expressions peering down at him from the circle of sky that formed the mouth of the hole he was in. 

“I will remain here as well Colonel Mitchell,” the profile to his left rumbled. 

“Well, _hoo_ rah,” he groused, “we’ve got all the makings of a party right here, don’ we.” 

Cam rolled his eyes, gnawed his front teeth into the lush fullness of his lower lip and tried to ignore the sharp sting of remorse. He was generally an easy-going guy, approachable, who rarely let things get to him; but right this very minute his definitely-broken ankle was twisted awkwardly against the pit’s wall and numbness was spreading up the rest of his leg with frightening rapidity. 

He’d do anything for any one of his team but here, now, he hated the lot of them; hated them for having their dignity intact and for their clean, dry, sweet-smelling uniforms, while Cam – lucky hound dog that he was - sat plastered in orange muck that reeked of ‘coon puke, mixed with a sweet vaguely-familiar scent, that seemed to be wafting up from the crushed foliage beneath him.

“Just get me out of here so we can head back together, please?” He’d tagged on the _please_ as an apology for his earlier temper. His grandma had always said _no matter the situation Cameron, there is no call for rudeness._

“We don’t know what other injuries you have, we could end up causing you more harm,” Sam argued. Cam had known the whole equal rank thing would come back to bite him in the ass eventually, “it’s a hundred fifty feet up to the trail.”

Cam swallowed hard to fight off the dizziness he felt at the idea of being hauled back up what he’d unceremoniously slid down, “I’m fine, we’ve got the gear, let’s do this.”

Teal’c was already shrugging out of his pack to get at the two hundred line of rope he carried. It was a few impatient eons before a red bowline lasso of type-six nylon rope thwapped Cam in the face, “nice aim you’ve got there, big guy.”

“You are most welcome Colonel Mitchell.” 

Cam’s snort of amusement was chased away by the gasp of pain that accompanied him wriggling the rope into his armpits. 

The climb out of the hole had been nothing compared to the nightmarish slippery ascent the team had endured to reach where they’d started this detour. Jackson had lost his footing and grabbed Cam’s ankle in reflex, Cam had hollered until the air was positively blue and Vala had landed on her ass in the orange sludge when she’d lunged to catch Jackson; but they’d made it to the top in legendary SG-1 style, without losing any one. 

Cam was miserable, the other’s had left him to sit propped against the peeling green bark of a tree while they constructed a stretcher from their rain ponchos and two branches. His ankle, still in its boot, felt more comfortable since Sam had splinted, strapped and elevated it on her pack; but it was the orange mud caking and cracking on his skin that had him wanting to madly scratch at his private places. He felt like the rock guy from that film; just once he’d like to be the cool guy on the team. Like the one who could set himself on fire; though with Cam’s luck, he’d end up setting everything on fire and Teal’c would have to turn the fire hose on him. Cam wasn’t entirely sure how cool a drowned rat was but the thought of being soaked to the skin with icy cold water was something he could live with if it meant getting this crud off of him.

“Your chariot awaits, my lord,” Jackson mocked as his shadow fell over Cam and brought him out of his daydream. “We must away afore darkness finds us twixt here and hearth.”

“Funny,” Cam gritted through clenched teeth as the other man fed his arm behind Cam’s back and lifted, allowing Cam’s left foot to bear most of his weight. 

“It’s a gift,” Jackson smirked and grabbed a fist full of belt to help lower Cam onto the stretcher.

“Are you comfy there,” Vala asked as she shouldered her enormous pack in preparation for moving out. “Can I get you a pillow?”

The wicked gleam in her eye was so infectious that Cam momentarily forgot his discomfort and flashed his southern boy grin, the one he’d given his grandma any time he wanted something she was bound to disapprove of. “Thanks, maybe later?”

“What _is_ that smell?” Cam grumbled on a hiss as he was lifted and his ankle knocked sharply against the stretcher’s branch pole.

“That’s you Cameron,” Vala eyed him disapprovingly. “You really should be more strict about your personal hygiene.”

There were snickers from Jackson and Sam which Cam loftily ignored, “it’s kinda sweet and soothing?”

“It’s **Chamomile** , or at least I think that’s what it is. We’re taking samples back for the botany department,” Jackson explained from where he carried the tail end of Cam’s litter.

“I could get Corpsman Bowen to make you some tea,” Sam failed to hide the positively sadistic mirth that danced around her mouth as she gently patted his bicep.

“I’d rather have a Macaroon,” Cam pouted sulkily.

It wasn’t until the group had rounded the fourth bend in the trail back to the gate that Vala asked in a puzzled tone. “What is a Macaroob?”


End file.
